For Your Own Good 7

Ned confirms a shocking theory or two, and Michael looses something 
else very dear to him.  

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For Your Own Good 7

     What he had seen on the computer in the ICU ward stayed with 
Michael long after he and Cheng returned to their dorm and their 
daily routine.  No one had caught them, and although badly shaken 
at what he had seen and done, Michael nonetheless tried to put it 
behind him and move on.  One day bled into another with no track of 
time at all.  Cheng’s speech continued to deteriorate as Michael 
began to accept the fact that he was now a eunuch and gay as well.  
He admitted to himself that he had enjoyed what he had done with 
the Asian eunuch, although time and scheduling didn’t offer them 
any opportunity to do it again.  He was plagued by the occassional 
headache now and then, usually when he was strung out and feeling 
anxious or horny.  He had no idea what affect his castration would 
have on him, but he didn’t notice any appreciable change after 
returning to his dorm.  The others were all still there, including 
the guard Bolton, and life resumed its normal course at IO for them.
     It was some time afterwards, during the routine of getting up 
and showering one morning that Michael noticed something.  Usually 
he awakened with an erection every morning, and continued to be 
erect during the shower.  Passing his hand over his fully healed 
and shrinking scrotum was exciting to him, as well as watching the 
others.  Even though he was now fully one of them, the very sight – 
especially of Cheng – excited him.  Until that morning that he was 
soaping up and found that he wasn’t erect.  He rubbed his remaining 
scrotum in the usual way, looked his roommates over, and although 
he tried to stimulate his penis into its usual routine, nothing 
happened.  His heart began to pound.  It was Sam who noticed.
     “Whaz wrong, Mikey?” he asked, a broad grin splitting his 
face, “Things not comin’ UP like they should?”
     Michael blushed.  “Does this always happen?”
     Surprisingly, it was Joey who answered him.  “Well since they 
cut your balls off, yea, it happens.  It’s only a matter of time 
before you can’t get it up anymore.  Pretty soon you won’t even be 
lookin’ at anybody.”  
     They looked at him in surprise.  Usually, Joey didn’t say two 
words to anyone all day long unless he was called upon in class or 
had to talk to a counselor.  “I think I counted up 45 days or 
periods or rotations or whatever you wanna call it in this damn 
place,” he continued, “after they cut me.  One morning I just 
couldn’t get it up anymore.”  His face flushed, and he turned the 
water off and reached for a towel.  He sighed loudly and went back 
to his bedside to dress.  Joey, it seemed, was very self-conscious 
of his defect.  Sam just seemed to accept his and move on, and 
Cheng – although his condition was deteriorating quickly – still 
seemed perfectly happy as a complete total eunuch.  He smiled at 
Michael, who found himself surprised that he was feeling hot; his 
penis, however, made no reply.
     Sam was shaking his head and still grinning.  “Might as well 
get IT cut off too, Mikey, it ain’t never gonn’ work again for ya.”
     Cheng laughed, and stumbled over to the towel rack.  He made a 
gesture with one hand meant to imitate a pair of scissors cutting 
at the index finger of his other hand.  He was grinning broadly.  
His coordination was failing fast, and Michael guessed that it 
would only be a matter of weeks before he was confined to a 
wheelchair.  No one told them anything, but it didn’t look 
promising.  He was still having headaches, unlike Sam and Joey, and 
Cheng was just falling apart.  Michael had had only one jolt of ULF 
for mouthing off in jest with a counselor, but still the nagging 
headaches wouldn’t leave him.  Ned had told him during his last 
exam that he would look into it, and that he had a theory.  Michael 
had thought that he was acting rather strangely, but didn’t mention 
it.  He had also vehemently denied knowing anything about the virus-
ridden CD that he and Cheng had viewed in the ICU.  The thought of 
what they had done there made him flush again, and the feeling was 
there.  Nothing else happened though.  “Thanks, but no, guys, I 
think I’ll keep it for a while.  I might get HRT when I get out, 
you know.”
     Cheng shook his head and made the gesture again.  Michael 
stared at him, a slow heat rising up in him.  His penis began to 
erect a bit, slowly, and a slight twinge passed through his left 
eye.  He shook his head again, looking away, the thought of having 
his penis cut off as well finally bringing him up to a full 
erection.  He wrapped his left hand around it, and stroked it a few 
times, but it didn’t last.  Cheng sighed, shaking his head again.
     Sam laughed and cupped his own large balls.  “I got all the 
HRT a body could need right here.  Damn…” then he sighed, “Why you 
have to be so cute, Mikey?”
     “Dunno,” Michael replied, shrugging his shoulders, “but I am.”
     He could see Sam’s face turning a slighter reddish tint of 
brown, but he couldn’t tell if it was water from the shower or 
beads of sweat on his smooth shaven scalp.  Michael went for a 
towel, and Sam ran a hand over his scalp as he passed.  His hair 
had since been cut back to ¼” on top and faded down to 0 below his 
ears.  He liked the haircut, and was glad that they had let him 
keep it.  Michael turned to face his penectomized friend, suddenly 
curious as to how the black youth must feel.  “What’s it like?” he 
asked softly, staring at Sam’s somewhat unique groin.
     Sam sighed again.  “Feels like it’s all still there, 
sometimes.  I wake up and I can feel it, just like it’s still there 
and touchin’ the covers.  Then I reach down to touch it thinkin’ 
I’ll just whack off a couple ‘o times and there’s nothin’ there.  
But it feels like it should be.  I still get horny, but cain’t do 
nothin’ ‘bout it.  And tell you what, seein’ you all in the shower 
every mornin’ don’ help either!”  Then he laughed.  “Oh well, if I 
DID have it still, you know where it’d be!”
     Michael felt himself flushing again.  He certainly didn’t feel 
like his balls were still there, and the thought of never having 
another erection bothered him.  What he and Cheng had done was 
still large in his mind, and he found himself frightened as well 
that he wanted to do it again, but might never be able to.  He 
couldn’t begin to imagine Sam’s frustration.  Then, without 
warning, Sam moved a bit closer and put his heavily muscled arm 
around Michael’s slight shoulders and shook him.  He rubbed the 
eunuch’s head again, then slapped his butt.  “You too good for this 
place, Mikey,” he said, “and too cute to tease ME.”
     Cheng laughed aloud at that.
     “I’m sorry,” Michael apologized, “I don’t mean to.”  Suddenly 
he was afraid of Sam, and he didn’t know why.  The incident with 
Harvey was long past, but it came to the surface with shocking 
clarity.  Sam was almost graduated, and it worried him.  Who would 
take over when Sam was gone, and what would Sam do?  How would he 
act once he was full Staff and not a trainee?  Would he pursue 
medicine more, or stay a guard?  It was too early to think about 
such heavy matters.  
     They were almost dried off when Michael heard Cheng whimper.  
He pulled his towel from over his head so that he could see, and 
saw Cheng kneeling on the floor.  There was a stream of blood 
coming from both sides of the Asian eunuch’s nose, and he was 
pounding both fists against his temples.  Sam called out, “Medical 
emergency!” as Joey, startled by Cheng’s sudden cries, ran to the 
door and began to call for Bolton.  Michael knelt beside of Cheng 
as Sam pulled the eunuch’s hands behind his back.  His thin arms 
weren’t strong, so it wasn’t much of a struggle.  Michael put a 
hand on his forehead and pushed it back, pinching his nose and 
wiping at it with a towel.  Cheng’s was hot.  Michael could feel it 
in his hand – the small Asian was burning up.  He was shaking, and 
trying to say something.  Then he fell forward, and Michael caught 
him as Sam pulled back on his wrists.  “L-l-lhegggo!” he cried.  
Sam did that.  As he released his wrists, Cheng wrapped his thin 
and longish arms around Michael’s neck.  Michael pulled him into a 
tight embrace, saying, “Help’s coming, it’ll pass.”  He didn’t know 
what else to do.  He stared up at Sam, but Sam was shaking his 
head.  The black boy turned away.  More blood suddenly shot from 
Cheng’s nose, splashing Michael all over his shoulder.  It ran down 
his chest and dripped onto the floor.  “D-dhon’ l-l-let gho,” Cheng 
sobbed, choking as a new fountain of blood erupted from his mouth.  
Michael held his friend tighter, despite the mess that was going on 
all over them.  “Where ARE they?” he screamed, beginning to rock 
back and forth with Cheng in his arms.  
     Michael tightened his grip, as if thinking somehow that he 
could actually do something.  Cheng’s shivers and cries of pain 
became less intense, and when the door opened to admit Bolton and 
an orderly, Cheng fell limp in his arms.  His lips were moving, but 
he was making no sound.  Michael bent closer, placing his ear on 
Cheng’s blood-soaked lips.  “L-lhuv yhhu, Muh-hikey,” he 
whispered.  Then, without warning, he screamed one last time. 
      For the rest of his life, Michael would remember that 
terrible, agonized wail.
     Then Bolton and the orderly were upon him, pulling him back, 
but it was Sam who spoke.  “It’s too late.”

     Ned stared at his computer and picked up his cell phone.  He 
dialed up his friend Jason, who had written the ingenious virus 
code for the CD that he had left for Michael.  There it was in 
front of him with stunning clarity, so easily seen once he noticed 
it that he couldn’t believe that he had missed it.  He had to have 
another opinion, however.  Jason’s mind worked like a computer, and 
if he saw the pattern as well, then it would have to hold true.  
Finally, Ned knew how to save Michael, even if Cheng was already 
too far-gone.
     Jason agreed to come over as soon as he could and have a look 
at Ned’s findings, which were catagorized and printed neatly.  He 
stared at it in wonder.  It was so easy.  There before him was the 
answer as to why some of the boys at IO reacted so badly to therapy 
and to ULF.  Ned also theorized that it was his findings that 
explained why some of them deteriorated into vegetables and some 
died.  It wasn’t common, but there were cases.  IO’s mortality rate 
was running at 3% a year.  3 boys of every 100 died in IO before 
they graduated.  And finally, Ned knew why.  The answer lay in the 
combination of the ULF waves, endorphine levels in the brain, 
testosterone levels, and one other very important thing: sexual 
preference.  Looking back, Ned realized that in all the time he had 
been at IO, he had seen two boys deteriorate into vegetables and 
one die.  He thought of Cheng, then of Michael.  He remembered the 
boy who had died, and another aspect of his plan began to form in 
his mind.  Impatiently, he waited for Jason to arrive.  While he 
waited, he studied more of the results that Jason’s virus had 
gotten from the Mainframe for him.
     The cases of the last twenty deaths at IO over the years were 
summarized very simply.  Ned had printed them out via name and age 
and age at time of death.  It also listed each boy’s sexual 
characteristics.  It looked like this:

     And the list continued.  
     Ned wondered how he had ever missed it.  He laughed at himself 
for all the nights he had spent studying the records until he had 
run across the article about the hypothalamus of the brain in gay 
men.  All down the terrible list, the names changed.  The genital 
cutting of different boys varied, but one thing was NOT on the 
list: Penectomy only.  The ages didn’t seem to matter.  Each boy 
was either castrated or emasculated fully and gay.  There was not 
one single death that read “hetero” by the boy’s name.  There was 
also no listing of a death for any boy who had kept his balls 
only.  It all fit together so well.  Ned sighed again and picked up 
his tape recorder.  He began to speak.
     “After long study, I have come up with a theory as to what is 
causing the slow degeneration and eventual deaths of several boys 
at the IO Rehab Facility.  It seems to be a combination of 
factors.  It has been found that the construction of the 
hypothalamus of the brain is different in homosexual men – and boys 
for that matter – than it is in heterosexual men.  There seems to 
be a difference in a small lobe at the base, and this lobe is 
different in homosexuals.  When subjected to the ULF bursts that 
are used to induce pain in misbehaving inmates, the brain prepares 
to release endorphins upon termination of said pain.  Once these 
endorphins are released, they cause a feeling of intense relief.  
The boy is thereby encouraged to behave.  However, these endorphins 
also seem to react with the other endorphins that are generated by 
sexual activity.  As everyone knows, sex feels good.  This is 
caused by the endorphins and pleasure centers in the brain.  Due to 
their age upon admission, as everyone knows, a teenage boy is a 
walking mountain of hormones and sexual desire.  It is standard 
procedure to castrate inmates, or to emasculate them as 
Administration sees fit.  Some of the boys have their penises cut 
off, but retain their testicles.  This leads to interesting 
hormonal insights.  Usually, a boy will lose his sex drive shortly 
after castration, since none of the eunuchs at IO are given HRT.  
They have low amounts of testosterone in their systems.  The boys 
who still have their testicles, but no penis, have normal to high 
testosterone levels, along with the other hormones that the 
testicles manufacture.  But what of the boys who do NOT lose their 
sex drive totally after castration?  It’s almost like a car that 
can run with no gas in the tank.  The boys may not be very well 
able to perform sexually, but they WANT to.  Their brains continue 
to release these pleasureable endorphins, whether they are able to 
reach a sexual climax or not.  Seemingly in cases where the boy has 
the desire but can’t reach orgasm, the effect is even worse.  
Perhaps because he tries harder.  It seems that these sexual 
endorphins combine with the ULF-released endorphins and the 
resulting mix of chemistry is further intensified by ULF 
treatments.  Even the nighttime therapy via the subliminal 
transceivers in the inmates’ pillows seems to play a role in this.  
This ‘endorphinal mix’ appears to elevate to toxic levels, 
resulting in degeneration of brain tissue.  The boys affected first 
begin to become disoriented but overly happy, easily confused, 
begin to slur their speech, and lose motor control.  Eventually, 
they lose the ability to speak and ability to walk.  Shortly 
thereafter, their coordination fails and they begin to lose more 
memory.  It seems that within 1.5 to 2 years, depending on the boy, 
two things may happen: the boy dies, or he becomes a vegetable who 
is nearly brain dead.  Death in these cases usually happens as a 
complication of something along the lines of pnuemonia.”
     Ned paused.  He wished that Jason would show up, because the 
next phase of his plan was going to need a very, very good computer 
hacker to get him into IO’s Mainframe.
     “So what is the conclusion?  Very simple – gay boys who get 
castrated and don’t lose their desire for sex are going to die from 
the ULF treatments and abnormal hypothalamus activity.  
Heterosexual boys, castrated or not, seem to immune – as do the 
penectomized-only, bigger boys like Sam who are planning to become 
Staff members.  The key seems to be testosterone – somehow this 
main male hormone interacts with the deadly endorphine/ULF mix and 
neutralizes it.  For a gay inmate at IO, testicular castration can 
be a death sentence, depending on how much the boy steps out of 
line and gets ULF punished.”
     There was a knock at the door and Ned put aside his recorder.  
It was Jason.  Ned showed him the table of information, and Jason 
immediately reached the same conclusion.  “Looks like gay boys who 
get castrated at that place where you work die inside of 2 years to 
me,” he observed, “but the ones with balls don’t?”
     Ned sighed and nodded.
     “So out with it, man, whatcha need now?”
     “I need to hack the IO Mainframe and change some records,” Ned 
replied.
     Jason’s eyebrows shot up and he whistled.  “Why?” he asked.
     “I have to get someone out,” Ned replied, “Someone I don’t 
think should be there.”
     Jason paused and looked up from the pile of papers.  “No 
straight boys dyin’ in there, huh?  So you wanna save one little 
faggot that got put away because he was a criminal?  You’re almost 
a full-fledged doctor, Ned.  Why risk it for one rottten kid?  He’s 
getting’ what he deserves.”
     “NO, he’s not getting what he deserves!” Ned retorted 
vehemently, “He was ignored, neglected, and left to fend for 
himself.  No one came to rescue him.  His only crime was being born 
to the wrong parents and being in the wrong place at the wrong 
time.  He’s being terrorized, having his brain messed with, and for 
God’s sake, Jason, I had to cut his balls off!  He trusted me, and 
I betrayed him.  Just like everyone else.  That boy, queer or not, 
is going to die in there just like these others unless I do 
something!”
     “There’s something else, Ned, out with it.  We’ve known each 
other too long.  Why THIS boy?  Why not the Asian kid you keep 
talking about, or the Andy or Andre’ or whatever whose mom’s a 
lesbian?  Why MICHAEL?” Jason dug in, his words relentless.
     Ned sat down heavily in his computer chair and spun around.  
He felt the tears welling up in his eyes.  There was a lump rising 
in his throat, and emotions that he had supressed since Jason had 
begun to write the virus-laden CD suddenly came rushing back up to 
assault him.  He brushed the papers off of the desk with a 
despairing groan and inserted a copy of the same CD that would 
reformat itself once played.  He clicked on MICHAEL when the screen 
came up and left the room, saying only “Watch the damn movie.  I’ll 
be back.”
     The media player opened up and Jason, who knew that Ned was 
studying a specialty in urology, watched.

     On the screen, two burly black guards were escorting a boy of 
small build.  The boy had pale hair, and he was thin and puny 
looking.  His hair was shaved very close to his scalp, in a very 
short buzzcut.  The boy was naked, and the guards held him, one 
each having a hold of the boy’s upper arms.  They half led, half 
carried him into the room.  His head was drooping, and it appeared 
that he had been drugged.  Then the image zoomed itself up.  Jason 
could see the angry looking and large red welts on the sides of the 
boy’s head.  One of his eyes was blackened, and his lower lip was 
busted.  There were bruises here and there on his slight frame.  
The boy moaned now and again as the guards lifted him up and placed 
his limp body on a metal-framed table of sorts that looked like 
some type of Midieval torture device.  There was also a large, 
tough looking man there whom Jason did not know.  He assumed that 
it must be the “Ames” fellow that Ned often mentioned with 
contempt.  He was wearing a white lab coat and carrying a 
clipboard.  He looked over the unmoving boy, made a few notes, then 
began to secure the boy to the exam table.
     Jason could hear the press and rip of the Velcro cuffs as Ames 
adjusted them about the boy’s wrists and ankles.  He then secured a 
larger strap across the boy’s waist, two over his upper thighs, and 
a collar about his neck.  Lastly, he placed a thinner strap across 
the boy’s forehead.  He then paused as someone else entered the 
room.  It appeared to be some other doctor, or perhaps a male 
nurse.  Ames handed him the clipboard and stepped back.  With 
practiced efficiency, the man in white took a tray of various 
instruments and moved closer to the boy on the table.  He looked 
the boy over, and turned back to his tray.  Ames watched as the man 
in white placed an IV in the back of the boy’s left hand.  He then 
produced a long tube from the tray.  Jason cringed as he watched 
the screen, as the man carefully catheterized the boy.  The shot 
was zoomed up, and Jason noted that the boy showed no outward signs 
of puberty.  Once he had secured the catheter to a collection 
bottle, he picked up another longer, thinner tube and began to 
insert it up the boy’s nose.  The boy on the table moaned a few 
times, but didn’t wake up.  Somehow, although he had never been in 
that bad of a shape, Jason felt glad that the boy was so far out of 
it and oblivious to what was being done to him.  The man in white 
looked over his handywork, nodded to Ames, and left.  Some time 
later, as Ames was making more notes and entering data into a 
computer on the far side of the room, another man entered. 
     It was Ned. 
     “He’s all ready for you,” Ames was saying, but Ned was just 
standing there onscreen staring at the form of the unconscious boy 
on the table.  His eyes looked haunted.
     “Oh God, what have you DONE to him?” Ned asked in a hushed but 
anguished tone.
     “Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Ames replied, “Let’s get this 
little fuck castrated and see if that settles him down.  He flipped 
out talking to his counselor this afternoon and got hysterical.  He 
wouldn’t listen, so we punished him.  It was for his own good, you 
know.”
     Ned was staring at the boy with a look of horror on his face 
as if something had come back from his own past to haunt him.  With 
a trembling hand, he picked up a hypodermic and found a vein.  He 
took a blood sample.
     “What’s that for?” Ames demanded.
     “I want to test his serum testosterone levels,” Ned replied, 
for a before/after comparision.
     Ames grunted and nodded.  “Just cut his balls off and be quick 
about it.”
     “He’s in too bad a shape,” Ned replied, his voice hot, “Just 
look at him!  He looks like he’s been beaten half to death!  He’s 
in no shape for surgery!”
     “It’s a simple procedure and almost bloodless, Ned.  Need I 
remind you of your obligation and who is in charge here?  The boy’s 
balls have to come off, and come off now.  He’s a bad boy, and it’s 
policy anyway.  That is, unless you intended to take MORE off than 
just his balls?”  Ames tone was suggestive.
     “Of course not,” Ned snapped, “His records say he’s HRT 
pending upon release.  How’s a total emasculation going to 
rehabilitate him?  He isn’t in for sex crimes.  He’s just an abused 
child whom no one watned.”
     “Do it your own way,” Ames replied, shrugging.  “Just be off 
with his balls.  You need any help?”
     “NO!” Ned snapped, “Not with this one.”
     Ames was leering at the boy on the table.  “You like him, 
don’t you?”
     “Yes, I do ‘like’ him, but not in THAT way, Ames.”
     “Uh-huh,” Ames answered.  “Oh well.  Another day, another 
castration.  Excuse me, if you will.  I have another busload of 
inmates coming in later on this evening.  Have fun.”  And with 
that, Ames turned and left.
     Jason watched the screen as Ned moved closer and gently laid a 
hand on the boy’s forehead.  He stood there for a long while, 
gazing upon the bruised face that was as yet unbroken by a single 
whisker.  Jason could see his friend onscreen, shaking, as if not 
wanting to do what he had called upon to do.  It was another simple 
castration, was it not?  Jason thought.  He started, not ready for 
the sound of Ned’s voice from the screen.  It had been quiet for so 
long…
     “I’m SO sorry, Michael,” the Ned on the monitor whispered to 
the unconscious boy, as he picked up a bottle of Betadyne and began 
to cleanse the boy’s scrotum with it.
     Jason saw that Ned’s hands were shaking as he moved the 
scalpel along the side of the boy’s scrotum.  With a practiced 
hand, he slid the left testicle out into his own gloved hand and 
pulled it down a bit.  He tied off the cords, then severed the 
testicle with a cauterizing scalpel.  He closed the small wound 
with two stitches, and repeated the task for the other side.  He 
then cleaned up the boy’s blood-flecked groin, inspected the 
catheter, and carefully bandaged the wound.  He called for someone 
to advise them that he was done and to take the boy to ICU.  The 
same two guards entered the room with a gurney, carefully slid the 
boy onto it, and left with him.
     Ned watched them go.
     Once alone, he collapsed into the chair with his face in his 
hands – still gloved and bloody.  Jason watched in amazement as his 
friend wept like his heart had just broken, his body wracked by 
choking sobs.  Then the screen went dark and the CD auto-destructed 
and ejected.  Jason didn’t understand.
     
     “Well?” came the voice from behind him.
     “I don’t get it, Ned.  You just cut his balls off.  Big deal.  
How many boys in there are castrated?”
     “All of them, in one way or another,” Ned replied.
     “So what’s up with this Michael kid?”
     Ned, who had since found a cup of coffee, sat it on the 
endtable and walked over to the desk.  He handed Jason another 
paper from a separate stack that he had not scattered earlier.  It 
was a lab test sheet, complete with DNA codes typed out and 
graphics.  Above the first set was the name ‘Michael Baines’.  
Above the second set was Ned’s name.  Jason felt a cold chill pass 
over him as he read the medical terms that he didn’t understand.  
Seeing a pattern on a table of data was one thing, but this was 
quite another.  “So?” Jason asked.
     Ned sighed.  He took a long drink of the coffee.
     “When I was little, my dad left us.  Shit, I don’t even really 
remember his face, he left so early in my life.  My mom worked hard 
for years until she met a good guy with a good job.  We lived well 
then.  I never knew what happened to my dad, he never called, never 
came back.  I always figured he found someone else and didn’t love 
us anymore, so we moved on.  My stepdad was a great guy, Jason.  He 
loved mom and me with all his heart and when she had HIS baby, it 
didn’t change a thing.  He loved us equally.  I always wondered, 
though, where MY dad went and why he left.  What became of him?  
Where did he go?  But I never found out.  All that my mom ever said 
was that he was worthless and didn’t like to work.  My stepdad 
helped me get into a good school, took great care of his own son, 
hell he even legally adopted me when I was six.  It was the typical 
American dream, Jason.  For someone as smart as you are, you arent’ 
drawing the conclusion too well.”
     Jason thought for a moment.  “What about your little half-
brother by this guy then?”
     “He died of luekmia when he was nine.”
     “And?” Jason asked, gesturing for more information.
     “Patterns, Jason,” Ned said very softly, look at the pics, the 
DNA prints, and look for patterns.”
     Jason did that.  On the screen was a picture of Michael 
Baines, the boy at IO that had Ned so upset.  He compared the 
picture to Ned’s.  He stared into the DNA prints.  Slowly, a 
suspiscion came over him.  He copied the IO picture of Michael and 
opened up Photoshop 5.5 on the computer.  Then he imported the 
picture of Ned.  He cut and pasted Michael’s face onto Ned’s to add 
more hair, then pulled up both images side by side.  He grabbed up 
the papers with the DNA analysis again.
     “I ran that right before I castrated him, Jason.  The sample I 
stole,” Ned explained, “I had to know.”
     “Holy shit!” Jason exclaimed, waving the papers at the 
computer’s monitor.
     Ned bowed his head and sighed.
     “You don’t mean that this kid is…”
     Ned nodded.  “I’m 99% sure. Read the back of the DNA printout 
sheet.”
     Jason stared at the back of the paper, his eyes wide.  He 
hadn’t thought before to check both sides.  Ned and he had been 
friends since high school.  He hadn’t heard Ned talk about his half-
brother before, didn’t even know the story of Ned’s father 
situation.  He was beginning to wonder what else he didn’t know 
about his friend who was asking so much of him.  “But your surname 
isn’t ‘Baines’,” Jason exclaimed.
     “My stepdad adopted me when I was six, remember?  He changed 
my name too,” Ned choked out.
     “Oh my God,” Jason replied, “You mean that this – this Michael 
kid is…”
     “Yes, Jason.  The time frame is just about perfect.  What you 
just watched – what I did to him – why I HAVE to get him out of 
there…” but Ned was overcome before he could continue.  Somewhat 
uncomfortably, Jason put his arm around Ned’s shoulders as the man 
surrendered to another onset of crying.  Jason concluded what Ned 
was unable to say.
     “Your dad left you when you were a toddler, then.  He was 
havin’ an affair and left you and your mom.  She remarried, you 
were adopted by her new husband … your name used to be ‘Baines’?”
     Still unable to speak for his tears, Ned only nodded.
     Jason looked back at the screen and the two faces smiling back 
at him.
     “Then this ‘Michael Baines’ kid is your little brother.”